


Blood In The Moonlight

by Ivori



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Hunger Games AU, Lydia Martin and Stiles Stilinski are best of friends, M/M, Teen Wolf, i don't know how to tag, incomplete fic it's just a work in progress i think, sterek, this may or may not end happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivori/pseuds/Ivori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and Stiles is chosen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the very first fic I've ever posted, and it's not even sort of complete. I have no idea where I'm going with it, I have no idea where I came up with it, I have no idea what's going on. Please enjoy the mess my head splatted onto the paper through my pen, and then onto AO3 through my fingers. woo internet. please don't kill me

 

 

His mother had told him once that his curiosity would get him in trouble.

And then she had died, leaving him alone with his father.  Stiles knew, of course, that his father had tried his best to fulfill his role as a single parent, but being the head Peacekeeper in a District full of desperate, starving people usually required all of his attention.

So Stiles would busy himself by sneaking into the Mayor's library to read his books.  What could he say?  He was curious, and the Mayor hadn't set foot in the library since his old mother had keeled over by the bookshelves lining the east wall.  It was a safe spot for him, and besides, the Mayor's daughter, Lydia, knew what he did and occasionally joined him.

By the time Stiles was sixteen, he knew a lot about the world.  His constant hunger for knowledge had made him power through every book the Mayor owned.  Twice.

Though Stiles was book-smart ('Nah,' he would say to Lydia, 'I'm a book  _genius_.'), he was not 'street-smart'.  And not being street-smart in District 12 usually got you killed in nasty ways.

'Dad, it's nothing-' he begins, wincing as his father takes his face in his warm, calloused hands, his tired eyes scanning the bruises that littered Stiles' cheeks and eyes.

'That's enough, Stiles.' his father's voice is rough, but quiet.

And Stiles closes his mouth, allowing his father to finish checking him for injuries.

'What did you do this time?'

Stiles winces.  'I, uh, tried to see if using the momentum of the carts going down deeper into the mines would make things go faster-'

His father groans, covering his eyes with his hands.  ' _Stiles_.'

'It was a really good idea!' Stiles says defensively.  'I was tired of sending them down one at a time, it took  _forever_ , and if I had just put the heavier ones in the back instead it would've-'

'Stiles.'

Stiles lets his words trail off.  'Yeah..?'

'What was your punishment?' Stiles father moves back to sit on the edge of the old bed.  It had been a gift from his mothers' family, to wish the young couple luck in an unlucky world.  'Besides the whole...' he gestures to Stiles' face.

'I, uh, I'm suspended from the mines for a week.'  Stiles winces at his father's sigh.  'But!  But, it's okay, because I can use this week to sneak back into the woods and set up traps for fresh-'

'No.'

'Dad-'

' _No_ , Stiles.  The last time you went into the woods, you were caught.  I can't-' his father's voice breaks, and a bit of Stiles breaks, too.  'You were nearly dead, and I almost lost my position as Head.  If that happened, we'd have no chance of survival.  And if I lost you too...'

His words hang in the air, and Stiles' heart sinks.  'Okay, dad.  Sorry.  I'll find something else to do.'

His father nods tiredly, patting his shoulder before laying down and turning on his side, facing away from Stiles.

Crickets chirp at the moon, and Stiles sighs once before laying down next to his father, curling up the way he had just after his mother had died, leaving him scared of the terrors the dark brought with it.

\--

'Aw, Lyds, don't be like that.' Stiles rolls his eyes as he picks up the small white flower from where Lydia had thrown it to the ground.  'You can't possibly still be mad at me for those berries, can you?  It's an honest mistake, they're both red-'

Lydia pokes her head out from behind her bedroom door.  'Stiles, you purposely gave me indigestion so I wouldn't go out on a walk with Jackson.'

'Whittemore?  The Victor's kid?  Nah, Lyds, you deserve better than  _him_.  Come on, I was  _rescuing_  you.'

Lydia huffs, closing her door again and speaking through it.  'He's my best chance at living a long, less miserable life.'

Stiles guffaws, sliding the small flower beneath the door. 'Says who?'

'Says my mother.'  Lydia's voice has gone soft.

Stiles instantly sobers.  Lydia opens her door, her red lips drawn into a scared frown.  She holds her arms out, and Stiles pulls her into a hug.  They fit together perfectly, he's able to rest his chin on her strawberry blonde hair.

'Hey, it's okay.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have played that joke.  Jackson'll try again; he likes you.'  Stiles pets her hair comfortingly as she huddles closer to him.  'Plus, he's terrified of disobeying your mom.'

That draws a shaky laugh out of Lydia, and she releases him and steps backwards, picking up the flower and playing with it in her fingers.  'Hah, hah.  Why're you  _really_  here, Stiles?'

Stiles feigns offense, putting a hand on his chest in righteous indigence.  'What, can't a friend stop by to apologise for making you poop funny for a week?'

'Ew, gross, Stiles,'  Lydia slaps him on the arm with an endearing grin.  'No, not if said friend is Stiles Stilinski.'

Stiles rolls his eyes and sits down, pulling her with him until they are side by side.  It was familiar, just something they had always done.  'I want to borrow the book on the electric fence.'

Lydia's eyes widen.  'Stiles-'

Stiles holds up his hands to interrupt her.  'I know, I know.  The first time I messed around with the fence really didn't go well, but that's why I want the book this time. If I can figure it out, which I  _can_  and we both know it, then I could go set up traps again, just like old times.'  he pauses, knowing exactly what to say to persuade Lydia, who is still shaking her head slightly.  'I could trap some  _rabbits_ , Lyds.  We could eat  _rabbit_  again.'

Both Stiles' and Lydia's mouths begin to water.  It's not like they both have it horribly, there are many in District 12 that have it worse, but fresh meat is still a delicious delicacy.

'Oh my god, really?'  Lydia says softly, in awe.

'It's practically rabbit season, Lydia.'  Stiles hums.  'I bet I could catch enough to feed the entire District.'

Lydia lets out an excited breath.  'Okay, I'll go get the book.  Be careful, though.'

Stiles pats her hand as he helps her up.  'Aren't I always careful?'

\--

Damn it, he should've been more careful.  He's already caught three rabbits and a squirrel,  but it's starting to get dark, and he's lost.

He can't risk staying out overnight.  He'd get whipped for sure if he did.  The wires that he'd messed with would be incredibly obvious to the Peacekeeper who checked on the fence every morning, and there was only one person who was stupid enough to do the things he did.  Namely, him.

'Shit.  Shit, shit, double shit.'  Stiles curses, hefting the bag that held his prizes over his shoulder.  He looks around with wide, searching eyes, trying to find out where he was, his breath coming in panicked little gasps.

Oh, there.

He can see the huge twisted tree, towering above the others.  Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he begins running towards it.

The twisted tree is a tree that hung over the fence that separated District 12 from the outside world.  Because of an electricity malfunction, it had caught on fire.  Somehow, the fire was put out, and somehow, the tree survived.  It was treated with respect.  Anything that had burned as long as it had and  _lived_  practically commanded it.

\--

'Stiles, have you been going over the fence?' Stiles' father peers at the soup in his old wooden bowl.  Bits of meat float in it.

'No.' Stiles ignores the pointed look of 'how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am' his father gives him.

'Really, Stiles?'

Stiles shrugs.  'It was easy to cut off the power, there's this book in the Mayor's library-'

His dad rolls his eyes and cuts him off.  'Rabbits?'

Stiles beams.  'Yeah.'

\--

'How many pieces of paper have your name on them, Stilinski?'  Jackson jeers.

Stiles shrugs.  He does that a lot around Jackson.

'I know you put your name in for the tessera.  Why?  Daddy too drunk to work right, so you gotta earn the food somehow?'

'I take out the tessera so I can give the extra food to people who are starving, Whittemore.'  Stiles says through clenched teeth as he stares down at the history paper he's supposed to be writing for class.

'Ohh, so noble.'

'Actually, it is.' Lydia stomps up the them, her strawberry blonde curls bobbing.  Jackson has the decency to look cowed.  'What Stiles is doing is saving a lot of lives, Jackson.  Do  _you_  save lives?'

Stiles bites his lip to hide a smile as Jackson visibly deflates.  'Oh.'

'Oh is right.  Now, why don't you apologise?  You may be my future husband, but Stiles has been my best friend since before I could read, and I'd like it if the two of you could get along.'

Jackson, needless to say, is much kinder to Stiles after that.

\--

Stiles' week is almost up, and he's dreading his return to the mines.  He spends as much time as he can outside District 12, hunting and trapping until the light begins to fade.

Two days before his week is up, he returns to the fence to head inside and distribute his goods to those who need them, and is shocked to hear the steady hum of electricity.

He supposes it was only a matter of time.

\--

Lydia is crying.  So is his father.

He can barely open his eyes.  His back feels as though it's been set on fire, and he lets out a moan.

'Stiles?' his father grabs his hand, which causes his arm to move, which causes his shoulder blade to twitch, which  _ow_.

'D-dad?' he says, or he tries to.  It comes out sounding like, 'Agh..'

'Oh, thank god- he's not dead, Lydia, he's alive, go get-'

'Yeah, yes, okay, I'm going, yeah-'  Lydia's voice sounds high and hysterical.  Stiles has no idea what's going on.  He has a vague recollection of the Peacekeepers finding him trying to climb the twisted tree, and a public whipping.   _Oh, god_ , his second public whipping.  He's a menace.  Really, he's lucky he isn't dead.  He's surprised they let him live, and in the back of his mind he wonders if they've got something worse planned for him.

\--

'Ladies first!'  cries Harris gleefully.  He's the Captiol's representative for District 12, and everyone hates him.

It's been a month, and Stiles' back is nearly healed.  The stitches came apart once or twice when he went back to work in the mines, but he's fine now.

It's hot.  The Reaping Day is a muggy, tired day, which is unusual, but almost welcome.  It's a break from the cold.

Stiles holds his breath.   _Not Lydia, not Lydia, anyone but Lydia_ -

It's not Lydia.  It's some girl no one knows, from a family of invisible sufferers.  She's obviously starving.  It's amazing that she makes it up to the stage to stand next to Harris without falling over, dead as a door nail.

Jackson leans over, whispering sadly, 'She won't last long.'

Stiles opens his mouth to agree, but suddenly he has no breath and the world is spinning and Harris is laughing,  _'Our little trouble-maker.  What a coincidence; as soon as he gets to be too much trouble, he's sent off to die-_ ' and Jackson is holding him upright, but barely, his face gone white as Stiles imagines his own is.

He can't look at his father, doesn't want to see how he'll stumble, doesn't want to see the shock that's probably mirrored in his own face-  _Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stilinski Stiles Stilinski_  


Lydia is screaming.  He begins to shake.  Oh god.

'Take care of Lydia.  Take care of my father.'  he hisses, desperately gathering the shredded remains of his self control.

Jackson swallows hard. Their relationship is weird and shaky at best, but he is loyal.

'I will.'

' _Promise me_ -'

'I will, I promise.'

Stiles nods and makes his way onto the stage.

No one claps.

\--

'Dad, it's okay, we both knew that they had more than just a whipping for me-'

Stiles' father sobs into his shoulder, clutching at his son like he can't bear the thought of loosing him, too.  Stiles does the same, except he can't cry.  Not yet.  He has to be strong for his dad.

'I love you, dad.'  he gasps, biting his knuckles to keep the tears from spilling onto his cheeks.

'I love you too, Stiles, oh god- I love you too.'

 

Lydia's tears are endless.  She flings herself onto him and begs him to come back.  He promises he will, but he kisses her softly, just because he knows that it's an empty promise.  She seems to realise that too, and sobs harder.

 

Jackson is still pale, but he clasps hands with Stiles and pulls him into a quick hug.  Stiles suddenly looses control.

'The families I tessared for-'

'I'll help them.'

'My father- he doesn't eat well, and if he gets a hold of alcohol he'll forget his pain, he'll lose his job if that happens-'

'I'll make sure he eats right.  He won't lose his job, I'll check on him everyday-'

'Lydia,' Stiles gasps, panic making his eyesight dim, 'Lydia, she..she likes strawberries and rabbit stew and the little white flowers that grow behind the school-'

' _Stiles_.'  Jackson presses his forehead against Stiles' own, causing him to swallow his words.  He sobs once, and then they're okay.

 

A lot of people say goodbye to him.  Mostly people he helped, or his mother had healed long ago, or his father protected.

Stiles makes each of them promise to watch out for his father.  He's lost so much already, and now he's loosing the one thing he had left.

And then it's time to leave.

Stiles swallows the lump in his throat, and when he tries to shout, 'Goodbye!' he finds he can't, so he waves instead.

He refuses to look away until District 12 is a speck in the distance, the train speeding on as he watches the only home he's ever known disappear forever.

He can't help but be bitter that he wasn't able to visit his mother's grave one last time.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot, first chapter is finally complete!  
> well, it's been complete for a while, I've just finally finished typing it up.  
> You know what I mean.
> 
> I don't have a beta, I'm still not exactly certain what a beta even is, but when people say they don't have a beta they say all the mistakes are theirs so I can only assume that a beta combs through your fic and makes it less horrifying to read for you grammer/spelling nazis out there. *blows kisses* love you crazy gooses.
> 
> can I ask for tribute betas? is that even a thing? Does anyone volunteer as tribute beta?
> 
> It's really late, ignore me, I've no idea what I'm saying. what an atrocious time to post a chapter. 3 am. wow I should sleep.
> 
> \--PLEASE TELL ME IF I NEED TO POST ANY TRIGGER WARNINGS I DON'T THINK I DO BUT IF I DO LET ME KNOW, I WANT EVERYONE TO BE HAPPY AND UNTRIGGERED--  
> is untriggered a word? whatever, it is now. I should sleep. ty everyone for looking at this fic. kudos to YOU. aha, see what I did there


	2. Chapter 2

The girl's name is Heather.  Her mother is a midwife, her father is a miner.

She has obviously been crying.  'My older sister, she's pregnant, I was going to be an auntie...'

Stiles bites his tongue and locks himself in his room.  He refuses to cry.

\--

Jackson Whittemore's father tries to teach them everything he can.  He has this broken light behind his eyes, and Stiles listens attentively, remembering every single word and asking questions of his own, while Heather throws up because she ate too much too quickly.

\--

They watch the others who were Reaped later that night.  Heather cries softly into a pillow, and Stiles discusses his chances with Mr. Whittemore.

The Careers from Districts 1 through 3 seem impossibly prepared, and incredibly ruthless.

A boy from District 4 is one that stands out in Stiles' mind.  Dark hair, sad hazel eyes, a  _great_  body, though...

Both tributes from 7, lovers, as it would seem.  The girl is small and twitchy, with long, frizzy blonde hair.  She grasps the boy's hand, he's tall and muscled with dark brown skin.

The boys from Districts 10 and 11, one tall and blond and curly haired, the other with dark hair and an uneven jaw that makes his face look lopsided.

Stiles isn't looking for threats- it's pointless, they're all threats in the end, right?  He looks instead for possible allies.

\--

Stiles hates the food they serve.  Rather than stuff himself like Heather, he runs up and down the length of the train, over and over and over and over and...

\--

...it's time to meet his prep team.  God, he's unprepared.  They mostly ignore him and chat amongst themselves as they primp and prod and brush and tear and turn him into someone he doesn't recognise.

The only comfort comes when he meets Alan Deaton, the man who will be making him look like someone who stands a chance.  Alan is quiet, but when he talks, Stiles listens.  He's wise.

'Don't ever let them see who you really are.'  He says softly, while walking around Stiles in endless circles, inspecting him from every angle.  Stiles should feel exposed, but he doesn't.

'They'll tear into you so fast, there will be nothing left.'

Stiles shivers.

\--

He decides he hates the Capitol.  Stuck up pigs like Harris, who think only about their next meal, rather than where their meal came from and who so laboriously worked to raise the crops and livestock they eat, who shaped the metal and glass they eat with, and who provided the things they deem 'every day'.

As the chariots go around, Stiles notices the way the hazel-eyed boy from District 4 stares at him.

God, he wishes they met another way.

\--

The man who runs the training room insists everyone calls him 'Coach'.  No one argues.

He trains hard.  For his dad.  For Lydia.  For Jackson.  For all the families who will starve without him.

He receives a score of 8.

Heather receives a 1.

'You were right, Jackson.'  Stiles whispers into his pillow.  'She won't last long at all.'

\--

'Oh, Stiles, you're hilarious!'  Jennifer laughs, clutching her stomach.  The crowd is howling.  Stiles never thought he'd be good at putting on a show for millions of people, but hey, he'll take whatever he can get at this point.

'Nah, I'm more of a trouble-maker.'  he shrugs with a tilt of his head and a sly smile.  He wishes desperately that he could  _itch his damn face_ , there's this spot just to the left of his nose, and it's driving him positively  _insane_.

'Hmm, that sounds like there's a story behind it.'  Jennifer looks conspiratorially at the crowd, and they respond like a pack of well trained dogs.

'I'm naturally super curious.  It's gotten me into loads of tight scrapes.'

'You don't say?'  Jennifer's gasp is so fake, Stiles is dying to roll his eyes.  'What kind of tight scrapes?'

Stiles leans forward, looking around like he's about to tell a secret.  'The kind that leave scars.  Wanna see?'

The crowd goes wild.  Some lady in the front screams, ' _Take your shirt off!_ '

Who is he to deny them?

\--

Derek Hale is the boy from District 4, the one with the hazel eyes.  Stiles wonders how such beauty can exist in such a dark and ugly world.

Sometimes, during training, or at lunch, he will straighten suddenly.  If he looks around, he'll meet Derek's piercing gaze just before he turns away.

\--

Scott McCall is the boy with the uneven jaw.  They become fast friends without either of them really noticing, and it leaves a bitter taste in Stiles' mouth.

'Dude,' Scott laughs.  'I bet I could eat this whole thing before you can even  _start_  yours.'

'Oh, you're so on.'

If he doesn't think about the fact that he could very well end up killing Scott, he gets along unfailingly well.

\--

Alan whispers encouragement.  Stiles swallows and nods.  This won't be easy.

'Hale.'  he says, strengthening his resolve as he steps over and sits down by the tall, handsome, hazel eyed tribute from District 4.

Derek looks up from his meal, his fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows furrowing slightly. 'What.'

'Would you ally yourself with Scott and I?'  Stiles says it quickly with his chin up and his gaze steady.

'Only if Isaac can, too.  I've already allied with him.'

Stiles nods, his mouth dry.  'Okay.  Good.  Good, um, talk.'

Derek scowls, and Stiles flees to Alan's side for safety, cursing the entire way.   _Smooth, Stilinski._  


Alan laughs at his red face.

\--

Sweat slides down the back of his neck as he puts on a smile and walks onto the stage.

'Ohhh, nice suit, Stiles.'  Jennifer beams at him from her comfy sofa-seat, her brown hair sparkling with gold fibers.

Stiles swallows and laughs as he sits across from her.  'Thanks.  Alan says it brings out my eyes.'

Jennifer laughs back, scooting closer.  'I don't know about that, come closer and lemme see.'  She takes his chin in her hand and lets her gaze run from his chest to his eyes, then back again.  She turns to the crowd.  'What do you think, folks?  Is it his colour?'

The crowd catcalls, and Stiles can distinctly hear, ' _Whiskey Eyes!_ ' chanted over and over again.

'All right, all right, Stiles.  Enough chit chat, let's get down to the nitty gritty secrets, shall we?'  she winks at him.

Stiles swallows again.  Hard.

'What's it like in District 12?'

Oh, that's an easy one.  But Stiles glosses over it.  'It's kinda hard.  There's always coal dust everywhere.  Not so great for people with allergies, like my dad.'

'Ooh, your dad.  He's the Head Peacekeeper, right?'

Stiles nods.

'What did he think about you coming to the Games this year?'  Jennifer tosses her curls over her shoulder.

  
_That it's a damn horror,_  Stiles thinks.   _That he has lost too much already._   But he says, 'He's pretty sure I've got a chance.'

'With a score like that?  What'd you get, again?  A seven?'

'Eight,'  Stiles corrects, injecting the smugness that Jackson usually spoke with into his voice.  'I'm faster than a lot of people think.  And I've been working in the mines since I was 10.'   _To keep my dad and others from starving to death_. 

Jennifer asks if he can lift the massive sofa he's in, and Stiles rolls his eyes.  'I'd rather not muss this suit, I'm kinda fond of it.'

\--

Derek is basically a Career.  In fact, sometimes, Stiles wonders why he didn't ally with them in the first place.  He's strong, big, and he can throw a spear or a trident like no one else.  Isaac figures out he's good with knives, ridiculously so.  Stiles is fast, and he finds that the hand-to-hand combat Coach teaches him isn't that much different from the self-defense his father taught him when he was younger.

Scott just cheers from the sidelines, encouraging them all on like the puppy he is.

\--

'What's your plan for the Games?'  Jennifer asks, her voice ringing out into the huge room.  Stiles can practically see the confusion on Scotts' face, even though he can't see him from where he's sitting.

'What do you mean?'  Scott's voice reveals that Stiles was right; he is confused, poor lamb.  Stiles puts his face in his hands.

'I  _mean_ ,'  Jennifer drawls playfully, 'what's your plan of attack for the arena?'

Stiles bites his lip, his gaze nervously bouncing from person to person while he waits for his turn to be interviewed.

'Oh,'  Scott laughs.  'Honestly?  I have no idea.  I've never really been good at fighting.  But-'  his voice softens slightly.  Stiles' wandering gaze meets President Argent's, who is standing next to her brother, Chris.  He quickly looks away as Scott continues, 'but, I've always been good at surviving.'

'That's the spirit!'  Jennifer laughs, before changing the subject.

\--

Heather is passed out on the floor.  Mr. Whittemore sighs, motioning for Stiles to come help him get her to her room.  She reeks of alcohol.

'Oh, gross.'  Stiles gags and turns his head away when Heather briefly wakes long enough to throw up, then pass out again.  'At least she waited to until she wasn't in public.'

'There are eyes everywhere.'  Mr. Whittemore warns wisely, his eyes darting to the glass window.

Stiles nods and rings for an Avox to help him clean up the mess.

\--

'Are you ready?'  Alan says softly.

'No.'  Stiles replies through clenched teeth and barely controlled panic.

'It'll be okay.  Find Scott.  Find Derek.  Find Isaac.  Then run.'

'Pick up anything I can grab without dying, then hide, I know.'  Stiles forces himself to breathe as he steps onto the platform that will take him up to the arena.  Glass encloses around him, sealing him off from Alan.  Another wave of panic washes over him.

Deaton steps backwards, nodding once in goodbye, and mouthing,  ' _Good luck_.'

Stiles swallows hard, mentally preparing himself.  He will be okay, just don't get caught in the bloodbath.  He will be fine, just find Scott and the others.  He'll be all right, he's survived so far-

\--

He is not okay, he is not fine, he is not all right.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still have no idea what I'm doing, story of my life.  
> do I need to say it's unbeta'd with every chapter, or do I just say it once in the beginning?  
> whatever.  
> uh, mistakes are mine, please point them out with kindness as I am a sensitive...potato..(???)  
> also, I'm bored and suddenly have time on my hands to type up stuff. I have no idea when the next update will be. if there will be a next update. dun dun DUN. [my procrastination intensifies]  
> to all who have read it so far- bless your beautiful souls. I know it's horrible and disgusting and makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. xxx  
> what a horrible chapter, my sentences are so choppy. sorry friends.


	3. Chapter 3

There was only one tribute who died before the Games officially begin. Heather lept off her platform as soon as it was raised. Stiles hears her scream and turns his face away so he doesn’t have to watch.

\--

The arena is comprised of four squares, and they’re standing in a circle around a huge stone tower. The 60 seconds quickly fade to 55, then to 50, and so on.

From what he can see, each square is a season: Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. HIs gaze meets Derek’s, who nods towards Autumn. He turns and searches for Scott or Isaac, but he can’t see them around the tower between him and the other side of the circle of tributes.

‘Let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!’ President Argent’s voice rings through the clearing.

Stiles meets up with Derek as they desperately search for Isaac and Scott.

‘Wait-’ Derek stops him just before he shoves him to the ground.

Well, this is it, Stiles thinks. Betrayed already. Sorry, dad.

But an arrow whizzes over his head, nearly missing the both of them. Derek holds a hand out to pull him up, but Stiles has landed on a hollow sounding piece of grass. His mind goes through two possibilities in as many seconds. One, all of the ground is hollow because it’s just a fake clearing of grass. Two, there’s something beneath the grass and Stiles can use it somehow. ‘Derek-’ he gasps, digging his fingers into the soft earth. He tears it up, revealing a small metal hatch. Maybe today wouldn’t end so badly after all.

He registers the fact that Derek is fighting someone seconds before his head snaps backwards as he gets a knee to the face.

All the training he has done kicks in, and he’s twisting, grabbing the leg and slamming the body to the ground. The one fighting is bigger, from District 2, he thinks, and suddenly he can’t breathe because the boy’s hands are on his throat when-

When blood sprays on his face and chest as he watches a knife poke out from the boy’s neck, and Derek is there shoving the guy off and pulling them over to the hatch. Stiles gets up quickly, grabbing whatever the boy had managed to grab; Derek’s got one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand, a spear already balanced between his neck and shoulder. ‘Get in!’

‘Scott, Isaac-’

‘It’s too late, we either get in or run or die.’ Derek’s eyes blaze and he looks around them at the fighting. He’s right, it’s only a matter of time before someone notices their stillness in a sea of adrenaline fueled bodies.

Stiles yanks the hatch open and drops into it, Derek following behind. The first thing he realises is that it’s dark, but it’s not pitch black, like he expected. The next thing is that he’s in a tunnel, that leads straight for where the stone tower was.

‘We’ve got to lock-’ Stiles begins, but Derek has already done so, shoving a knife through the handle.

‘Got it,’ he says gruffly, then shoves past Stiles into the belly of the stone tower.

Stiles stares at the hatch for a few seconds, frozen in place while his panic sets in. He leans against the wall of the tunnel, forcing it down. He hasn’t had an attack once in the Capitol, he’s not going to start now.

Besides, only his dad knew how to help him through one. Stiles is fairly sure that if he succumbed to the panic, he wouldn’t have a very good chance of survival.

Hah, he thinks miserably. Skinny twig from District 12 dies of a panic attack in the Hunger Games.

Stiles sighs and turns to walk down the tunnel, following Derek.

There are worse ways to go.

\--

Stiles belatedly realises that the stones glow. It was how he could see in the underground tunnel. He starts planning out how to steal some and take them home, they’d be invaluable in the mines, before he remember where he is, and that he won’t be going home.

‘Stiles?’ Derek says.

‘Huh?’ Stiles starts, jerking away from the wall. ‘Oh, sorry..did you say something? I, uh, spaced out.’

Derek rolls his eyes and holy crap, was that a smirk? Stiles’ jaw falls open. ‘Dude.’

Derek’s gaze lands back on him from it’s rolling adventure. ‘What? And don’t call me dude.’

Stiles waves off his request. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything with your face besides scowl before- yeah, just like that.’

Derek’s face has fallen back into it’s trademark look.

‘You… you should smile more often.’ Stiles swallows, his eyes nervously darting to the floor.

Derek doesn’t reply, but when he turns away, the back of his ears were pink.

\--

The supplies he and Derek had grabbed were full of weapons, not survival equipment. Well, Stiles supposed that weapons _were_ survival equipment in the games, but the knives, stun gun, nightsticks and various bombs that had been placed in careful piles in the middle of the tower floor would not keep their bellies full. No food or water had been found as they slowly and methodically searched through the bags. So far, they were out of luck.

Stiles can't remember how many times he heard the cannon go off throughout the day. He hopes Derek is keeping track, but remembers that the fallen (read: slain) are broadcast into the sky every night. 

While Derek lays down and stares at the tower's ceiling high above them, Stiles watches the faces flash in the sky. It starts with Heather, and Stiles can hear her scream echo in his ears. Then a boy from District 9, his name is... was Greenburg. Coach had enjoyed picking on him. Both tributes from District 8, then the boy from District 2 that Derek had killed. His name had been Danny.

Stiles stops watching after that, he feels sick. He wants to cover his ears, too, but figures he might as well try to put on a brave case in case the cameras were on the two of them.

'Do you think Scott or Isaac made it out?' He whispers as the sun sets, trying to drown out the sound of the broadcast.

'Shh, let me listen.' Derek hushes him, and, rude. Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but receives Derek's trademark glare and decides it's not worth it. Instead, he puts his head on the cool stone wall and closes his eyes. Despite his negative feelings, he listens to the rest of the broadcast and feels himself visibly relax when neither Scott or Issac's names are called.

'Thank god.' Stiles breathes, and turns to glance at Derek. He's startled to see a very, very violent look on Derek's face. It twists his hazel eyes and pulls his mouth down. Stiles has seen that look before. Hatred. He's seen it in his fathers face when he checks Stiles' arms for bruises, he's seen it in his own reflection in the many mirrors in the Capitol. 

'At first, he feared the emotion was directed at him, and he debated on whether or not he could sneak closer to the weapons without being too obvious. 

'This is wrong.' Derek's voice startled him out of his thoughts. Stiles turns away from the window he'd been standing at and gives Derek a confused look. 

'Huh?' is all he can think to say.

'All this?' Derek waves his hand at the world around him. 'It's wrong. It's corrupted. Just a big show of power.'

Stiles suddenly realises what (or rather, who) Derek's hatred is aimed at. His first thought is to agree, but the _cameras_... 'Derek, shut up-'

'It's bullshit!' Derek suddenly sits up, his loud tone startling Stiles so badly he stumbles over his own feet and barely catches himself on the wall.

'Yeah, okay, yes, but dude, you gotta calm down-' 

'No, I don't 'gotta calm down', Stiles.' Derek's voice has suddenly gone soft.

Stiles runs a nervous hand through his hair and rightens himself. 

'You know why? Because I have nothing else to lose.'

All Stiles is worried about is if the Argents decide to mess with the Arena around the tower as a punishment for Derek's words, not registering what the hazel eyed man had said. 

He suddenly realises it's finally quiet outside, and Derek curses. 'I forgot to count them.'

'There were a lot.' Stiles says helpfully.

'I counted at least nine before I got distracted.'

Stiles clenches his fists and lays down on the opposite side of the tower, unable to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while since I've posted. And this chapter is super short. I'm looking for a new beta, if anyone wants... I'm sure it'd help me post more often...  
> This chapter is so short. It's so so short. Apologies. Love you all. Maybe I'll add more to this chapter later.  
> I have more written down in my notebook... I should type it up.  
> Quick! Give yourself a hug, you're awesome.


	4. Chapter 4

It takes them two days to come up with a plan for food. By then, they're already weakened. But hunger is no stranger to Stiles.

'Just hurry up!' He calls down to Derek, who stands at the base of the tower with his hands on the knives that decorate his belt. He reaches up and catches the bag that Stiles has dropped down.

While Derek cautiously approaches the fruit trees in Spring, Stiles watches in the tower, the small crossbow loaded and ready in his hands.

Originally, Stile was going to be the one to leave the tower and Derek was going to play sniper, but that was before they had spotted the bow buried beneath a bloodied bag that had been left behind in the bloodbath. Derek had grunted that he was no good with a bow and it'd work better than the knives he had been planning on throwing.

Most of the fruit Derek had brought back was either unripe or rotted, but the trees had obviously been raided as soon as possible. First come, first serve and all that. Stiles would be grateful for what had been left behind, he'd seen several tributes sneak by and grab anything they could.

They rationed what they ate, but now that the food problem had been solved, they needed to find water.

\--

On day three, in the middle of their meager morning breakfast, the tower began to smoke. Derek's eyes go wide and his shoulders tense, and when he rushes to the window to peek out, his face has gone from white, to green, to grey.

'What is it?' Stiles breathes.

'Careers. They're going to burn us alive.' Derek's voice is a higher pitch than usual, and when Stiles reaches out to touch his shoulder, he practically growls.

\--

The smoke had filled Stiles lungs, making it impossible to inhale deeply. When he went to look back at Derek, the hazel-eyed boy seemed as though he were living in a nightmare. Stiles made a mental note to ask him why he was reacting so severely.

With their weapons in their packs and tucked into various items of clothing, they began creeping down the tunnel that led to the hatch. Stiles had dropped a smoke bomb out of the window and he just hoped it was enough to give them some time to slip away.

No such luck. Stiles fights with a nasty woman named Kali, who had gotten claws surgically placed into her nail beds. She is ruthless and fearless, and definitely fit in with the other Careers. She'd swiped a claw at his neck and he ducked, but was struck by a heavy blow to the back of his head. Shit, another Career. Where was Derek? Had he already been killed?

Stiles had collapsed to his knees, he heard Kali snicker something and the boy that struck him from behind laughed cruelly, but Stiles hurriedly shook the black spots from his vision then kicked out the boy's knee and tackled Kali to the ground and his hands were fumbling for his knife.

The boy had howled in pain and the sound was cut short, but Stiles can't look behind him because Kali's claws are on his throat and his knife is lodged in her neck. What really bugged him was her gurgling giggle as the life faded from her eyes.

'Stiles! We gotta go!' It's Derek's voice that brings him back to earth. Derek retrieves his spear from the Career boy's chest and grabs Stiles' hand and off they went into Spring. Angry cries echo from the fog and smoke behind them, and it isn't until hours later that Stiles realises he'd left his knife buried up to the hilt in Kali's neck.

\--

They run for a long time.

'Derek, stop, we gotta take a break-' Stiles pants, his chest heaving. His throat still burned from the smoke and he knows Derek can't be much better off than he is. But the older boy doesn't stop, just keeps running as though someone had set fire to his ass. So Stiles swallows his pain and continues on, passing trees and fields of flowers.

Finally, the tribute from District 4 seems to hit his limit, and he collapses near a stream. Stiles crumbles beside him, his hands reaching for the cool water. At this point, he could care less if the water was dirty and would give him stomach issues, it was better than tasting blood and smoke.

After a very refreshing drink, he looks over to Derek and suddenly becomes worried. The boy hasn't moved since he fell to the ground. 'Derek? You okay, dude?'

Stiles is about to freak out, when Derek says, 'Don't call me dude.'

Then he gets up and goes to the stream, splashing his face and drinking just as deeply as Stiles had. It could've been worse, the Careers could've set fire to the tower at night and they both would've died in their sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry everyone. Life decided to whoop me in the ass and plop me in the middle of an existential crisis, but I've finally found it in me to continue posting! And this one is so short and sad because instead of leaving Chapter 3 short and sad I added onto it. Don't hate me, aha!
> 
> I still need a Beta, so any mistakes are mine. Point them out in the comments so I can fix them? Thanks.
> 
> I have no idea what to write in this End Notes box, so I'm just gonna ...go now. Yeah.


End file.
